Page 174 of Sin Like the Devil

Rick’s eyes scan over me, taking in the multi-coloured bruises, swelling, deep lacerations and more. His attention catches on the portion of my scarred arm visible through the blood pouring from my wrists.

“How’s the brand?” he jokes lamely.

“Sitting pretty. How’s the friend?”

“Carlos is dead.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but look around you... No one survives this place.”

Rick’s eyes sink shut. “Then I’m glad you’re here.”

I’m tempted to dunk him beneath the water and hold him there for old time’s sake, but Harrison’s return scuppers that plan. His smile seems even wider than before. I cringe as I stand against the wall.

“Change of plan,” he singsongs. “We’re going to have a little chat while the boss gives your friend a call.”

“I don’t know anything about Sabre or that number,” I blurt out. “I never called them!”

“I couldn’t care less. Now, Rick here has been cooling down after his last bout of defiance. Shall we reward him with a show?”

I try to run, hoping to somehow duck past him, but I’m easily captured and plucked off my feet. Harrison tosses me like I’m little more than a trash bag to be discarded. My tailbone screams as I hit the floor and roll.

Striding after me, his playful expression evaporates. I hate knowing that Rick is watching as Harrison begins a violent campaign of kicks, punches and slaps to punctuate each deafening question.

“Who gave you the business card, Ripley?”

Kick.

“Answer me!”

Punch.

“Where did you get it from?”

Slap.

The pain is relentless. Blow after blow. Strike after strike. There isn’t a part of my body left untouched. Already bruised and battered skin feels like it’s ready to rupture and spill organs across the floor.

Harrison’s hand grips my chin to wrench me upright. His eyes are a curious blend of amber and chocolate-brown, like volcanic magma trapped beneath the earth’s crust. Rage sealed in nerve tissue and skin.

“Did you contact them? Promise to give those nosy bastards all the juicy details?”

“No,” I cry out.

“Lies.”

With a swift backhand, he drops me again. I collapse, too feeble to even spare our audience a glance.

“Not so loyal after all.” Harrison chuckles to himself. “Are you?”

“I’m l-loyal… to myself.” I spit out blood.

“So ungrateful. It’s a pity, all that wasted potential. But your loss is our gain.”

When he boots me in the face, the pain is too unbearable. Finally, my consciousness snaps as I black out. Eventually I come to again, finding Harrison now talking to a suit-clad pair of legs, visible through my unsteady vision.

My mind has turned to soup, but I can make out a few words. Enough to tell me that something is afoot. They sound tense, on-edge. Like troops perched on a hillside, preparing for enemy fire.

“Sabre… video sent… retaliation.”

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